Amore e pianto, vivono accanto

Posts tagged “longing

Only for him …

in evenings she waits

watching the moon
dance on the lake
lost in thought of him

kneeling before Goddess
imploring her aid
roses tossed at Her feet
in homage and offering
please make it him

soft linen blanket
placed with love on the shore
beneath the moonlight
bare, body and soul
waiting for him

her journal beside her
filled with his presence
poems of longing and love
desiring only him

chilled bottle of
sweet summer wine
beautifully wrapped
antique crystal goblets
sparkle in Goddess’s light
for her and for him

her hand pauses
over her chest
he is with her already
safe, deep in her heart
where he will stay
her heart is for him

every night
she keeps vigil
down by the lake
quiet and lost
protected by Goddess
she is only for him

© Carina D

The Reed Flute’s Song

Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.

“Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,

a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it’s not given us

to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty.”

Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn

and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy

and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender

and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.

A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect

because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes

is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying

that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.

Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,

who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!

No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.

But if someone doesn’t want to hear
the song of the reed flute,

it’s best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.

Jalalu’ddin Rumi